


greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for those he loves.

by WillowsAndWastelands



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Peter Survives The Snap, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Endgame Fix-It, Heavy Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Superfamily (Marvel), Temporary Character Death, This Hurts You More Than It Hurts Me, Tony And Peter Go To Vormir, Tony Stark And Steve Rogers Deserved Better And Make Fantastic Parents, but it will end happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowsAndWastelands/pseuds/WillowsAndWastelands
Summary: They were among the very, very few lucky ones. Or at least, that's what Peter told himself so he could get to sleep at night.Fate had flipped a coin, and it didn’t land on either side. The Snap hadn’t taken Tony. It hadn’t taken Peter. They were safe. They were alive. And miraculously out of the wreckage, they were somehow able to build a beautiful, albeit broken new life.But when a second chance is offered to get back everything they lost five years ago, they have to take it. They have to take it, and even though they were supposed to be the lucky ones, Peter and Tony are the ones who end up at the mouth of a very steep ledge on Vormir.Neither of them want to go home without the other, but neither of them can return home empty handed.They were supposed to be the lucky ones, but they are not.Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for those he loves.





	1. model successful

They were among the very, very few lucky ones. 

Peter told himself this often; applied it liberally like a balm to soothe his guilt and his grief. Not that it really ever made anything feel better. Words only go so far when both your very best friend and your unfathomably loving aunt were turned into ash in the wind, all because you failed.

But still, they were lucky. Fate had flipped a coin, and it didn’t land on either side. The Snap hadn’t taken Tony. It hadn’t taken Peter. They came home on a broken Spaceship, on which they’d nearly starved (or more accurately, Tony starved and pretended to be half as hungry as he really was, knowing Peter’s metabolism as a monster and forgoing his own share of food to keep it fed.) 

They came home on a wish and a prayer. On sheer luck. But it was hard to feel lucky there. 

Not everyone got a funeral. With half the world being dead and the other half wishing they were, very few people took time to prop up empty caskets and cry about how hollow it felt. But Tony knew a place in the forest behind the facility where the evergreens grew tall. Where the shed pine needles matched the exact auburn shade of Pepper’s hair, and the spruce trees smelled just like Rhodey’s cologne. Where Tony could be beside them once again, even after they were gone. Peter went with him when he laid down two heavy headstones into the black, wet dirt; saw how hard his hands shook against the pain, and the mourning. 

“I’m just tired, Pete,” Tony said, smiling rather unconvincingly after Peter had stupidly asked if he was alright. He took a long look at the barren graves belonging to his two best friends and ducked his head down, nearly succeeding but not quite at hiding the quick, heavy tear that fell from his eye. Still, his voice was remarkably steady. “Just tired, is all.” 

On Tony’s insistence, they held one for May and Ned as well. Peter didn’t want anything big or flashy, because that wasn’t them. They were quiet, and gentle. _Loved._ Tony understood that. So he helped Peter build a Lego Death Star, kindly ignoring his intermittent desperate, hitching breaths and trembling fingers; focused on the singular task of assembling that plastic memorial. When they were done with all the finishing touches, he brought the stupid, wonderful thing back to his room in the facility where he was now permanently settled and allowed it a liberal amount of space on his shelf. Beneath, he carved “Ned” into the wall using a shitty little box cutter. It didn’t make him feel better, but it didn’t make him feel worse. 

May was harder. Peter owed her _everything_, and yet he had _nothing_ of value left to give. 

“You know she never cried in front of me? Not once?” Peter asked Tony one silent night in the workshop. Before Thanos, they’d always had the music blaring; constantly shouting to be heard over all the heavy metal Peter loved, even though he couldn’t name a single song to save his life. But now it wasn’t right to be loud. It wasn’t right to be happy. That was their unspoken truth. “Not even after my parents died, Mister Stark. Not even after Ben.” 

Tony was quiet for a minute. Then he nodded. “Yeah. She was really strong, Pete.” 

“‘Was,’” Peter echoed. _Was_. Not ‘_is_.’ Never would be ‘_is_’ again. A lump rose in his throat and stayed there. 

They ended up making her a gravestone, too, and they put it down in a Queens’ graveyard next to his uncle, and his dad, and his mom. Peter read across the line of names; a paragraph of people he had lost, knowing at least half of them were his fault. Tony’s supportive arm around his shoulders was the only reason he didn’t fall. 

It didn’t feel like enough, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He brought four sunflowers every Saturday he could. 

_We’re the lucky ones_, Peter would tell himself like a mantra. Like the lifeline it was. _We’re the lucky ones. Because we lived._

As it turns out, repeating and believing are two very, very different things. 

Things got better, albeit achingly slow. A month passed. Tony gained the healthy weight back in his ribs, and the stab wound around them healed. Peter stopped screaming himself awake. They started playing classical music in the shop. Life was half-bearable again. Survivable, at the least. 

And as much as Peter hated to admit it after hearing Tony recount the tale of Siberia, of a vibranium shield crunching against an arc reactor core, Steve helped, too. Tony was never one to talk about his feelings much, but Peter could see the positive change without being told. They’d forgiven one another, and Tony was better for it. The violet circles beneath his eyes began to recede, he genuinely smiled when Steve pecked him on the lips goodnight, and though Peter knew Tony still sometimes dreamt of Barnes and broken chest-plates, he also knew Steve would never stop making up for it--- and most importantly, never stop taking care of Tony. 

That didn’t exactly make all things fair and even in Peter’s mind, though. Nothing a little shovel talk couldn’t fix.

After one particular morning of violent spar-training (pointless, really--- all threats were currently so devastated by their losses that they couldn’t mount an offense if they wanted to) and Peter had won fairly against Captain Fucking America for the first time in his godforsaken life, he’d called, “Hey, Steve?”

And Steve, who’d been on his way out the door, poorly hiding a limp from where he’d got his ass handed to him, turned around and asked, “Yeah?”

Peter stood up as straight as he could manage, hoped his face conveyed everything he felt. “I know you and Mister Stark are together again. And he’s happy, so I’m happy. But if you ever hurt Mister Stark again…” he trailed off, floundering a little in eloquence but not in conviction. His voice was still hard when he continued, “I don’t know what I’ll do, to be honest. _I just want you to know it’ll hurt._” 

Peter didn’t know exactly what he was expecting as a response--- maybe hurt, or anger, or regret--- but it wasn’t the small, sincere smile that appeared on Steve’s face. God, he knew he didn’t exactly possess a talent for intimidation. Didn’t mean it stopped aching to see how much he sucked at keeping the people he loved safe. 

“You’ve still got heart, Queens,” Steve ended up saying, that gentle grin still tugging on his mouth. “I believe you. And I see why Tony loves you as much as he does.”

With that, he left. 

Admittedly, the exchange made Peter feel just a _little_ bit better. 

Another month passed on stumbling feet; everyone left in the compound struggling to stay afloat and just barely succeeding. It got easier, as all things do with time. But it just felt like chipping a pebble off a mountain. Lighter, but not by much. 

Something significant did happen, though. Something big enough that the mountain was made to move. 

From what FRIDAY saw on the security system cameras, a woman— couldn’t be older than twenties if her young face was anything to go by— left a baby by the front gate of the compound. Bundled up in ratty blankets, tiny fists clenched around them. A crying newborn girl, coming with no explanation besides a shakily written note tucked beneath her, reading: 

_ “I can’t raise her without him. I’m sorry.”  _

There was no one to call. No fire departments, no hospitals, no churches were still open, and for that reason Peter understood why the woman had left her here. If anyone was still standing, it’d have to be Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, right? 

Anyone that really knew them would say ‘wrong.’ 

Nobody asked Tony, but he did it anyway. Immediately upon FRIDAY’s notification of the situation, he was running out the door; not so much as a jacket to protect him from the brisk, night air— either uncaring or unaware of Peter’s quick pursuit behind him.

It only took a moment for them to reach the gate, and a second more for Peter’s mentor to drop himself down into the gravel by the still-screaming baby. The sound hurt Peter’s ears, but Tony didn’t seem to mind. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he hushed, a little breathless from his sprint, pulling her up into his arms with incredible, almost practiced grace. She calmed a little once she was pressed to the warmth of his chest. He smiled back down at her; a broken, but reassuring thing. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

When he finally met Peter’s gawking stare a moment later, his eyes were red-rimmed and wide. _Afraid_, Peter realized with some shock. As long as he’d known Tony, he’d never seen the man’s fear show through. And feeling the rush of instinctual panic that ran through Peter’s veins at the sight, he understood why Tony had gone through such great lengths to hide it before. 

As if sensing Peter’s apprehensive reaction, he returned his eyes back down to the still wailing little girl. He directed his words to Peter, though. “I need you to run as fast as you can back to the compound. Get Bruce, tell him to prep the MedBay. Whole-nine yards. I don’t know if she’s hurt or sick or— something.” 

Peter nodded once, harsh and jerky before turning on his heel and heading back to the compound as quick as his feet could carry him. Even over the loud whistling of the wind, he could hear Tony’s rapid footsteps conflicting with the calm of his voice as he hushed the baby (however futile his efforts were.) 

As it turned out, Peter’s message became irrelevant— Bruce had heard FRIDAY’s alarm, too and was a step ahead of the game. He was prepped, ready, and decidedly un-green when Tony stumbled in a few moments later— moving swiftly towards the screaming bundle of blankets with a practiced calm. 

“Why’s she crying so much, Banner?” Tony asked as he handed her off, minding her head as he did. “Is that bad?” 

“Not necessarily,” Bruce responded but didn’t give much other explanation, too focused on the task at hand. He unwrapped her, let out a low hiss. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter demanded. She looked fine to him— until Bruce pulled the blankets a little farther down and he could see the line of deep, purple bruising wrapped around her little ribs and felt his heart drop heavy into his stomach as a result. “_Oh_…” 

“Internal bleeding?” Tony prompted, visibly shaking from where he stood. He looked very, very pale. Scarily so. “That lady drop her?”

“Don’t know,” Bruce replied, voice stiff and curt as he continued to check her out. But when he spared a quick glance to Tony’s face, a different concern appeared. He set his lips and looked over to Peter— taking him by surprise, never much having talked to the man before. “Kid, do us all a favor and get Tony out of here before he passes out. I’ve only got enough hands for one patient at the moment.” 

“I’m fine,” Tony snapped, obviously oblivious to how terrible he looked. Like a perspiring death warmed over. Peter didn’t have a medical degree, but he definitely wasn’t about to disagree.

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that no problem, uh, Doctor Banner,” he agreed, falling on unhearing ears— Tony so fixated on watching the little girl he didn’t even notice Peter’s approach until he had a hand around his arm. The genius startled at the touch, tried to pull away but was met by Peter’s much stronger grip. “C’mon, Mister Stark,” he plead. “We can’t help her. Doctor Banner can. Best thing we can do is give him space so just— please. Let’s go.” Tony wasn’t convinced until Peter added, “Don’t think I won’t get Steve down here. He’ll carry you, and you know it.” 

They left pretty quickly after that. 

Not knowing where else to go but wanting to give Bruce his space, the two naturally gravitated toward the comfort of the workshop. It was where they always went, regardless if things were good or bad. It was the one place Peter felt truly safe anymore, and he planned on fidgeting with his web-shooters to distract his frantic mind until he could be sure the little girl was safe. That plan was interrupted when he saw Steve sitting on his stool, clearly waiting for Tony, who visibly relaxed at the sight of him. 

Knowing when to take a hint, knowing Tony needed to talk, Peter slipped back out the door and sat on the steps close by—just in case Mister Stark needed him, he told himself. 

He kept his gaze on his hands in his lap, trying his best to give his mentor the privacy he needed, but he could still hear the muted conversation, especially as the voices got abruptly angrier. Arguing. 

“Tony, we don’t even know who her mother is. We can’t take care of this kid, we have to—“ 

“What? We have to _what_? What’s your solution? We can’t give her back. There’s nowhere for her to go besides here. The baby’s mom knew that. _You_ know that.” 

“No, I don’t know that. Maybe… maybe there’s still a fire station open, or foster care, or something—“ 

“There isn’t. Don’t lie to yourself, Steve. It just wastes time.”

A silence, followed by an unnaturally long sigh (Steve) and the sound of someone fidgeting with a metal wrench (Tony), then Tony’s voice again. 

“Listen. I get it if you can’t or won’t or don’t want her. I get that, and I don’t blame you. With the jobs we have… I know we never put them in our picture before. And it’s even harder to imagine one in the after. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m this kid’s only hope. So with or without you, I’m taking her in.” 

There was the noise of a chair scraping across the floor; Steve getting up to leave. Peter felt himself bristle, felt a barely muted anger brush up against his chest. Looked like Peter would have to make good on his threat after all. 

But then Steve surprised him. “I did the whole ‘without you’ thing for three years, remember? I learned my lesson.” 

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

Peter waited with bated breath for the reply, hands clenched in fists which turned out to be unnecessary as Steve replied, smile evident in his voice, “I’d sooner do anything by your side, no matter how daunting, than do nothing if not by you.” 

Tony’s voice was teasing, but a little choked up as he answered. “That didn’t even make sense. You’re _lucky_ you’re hot, blondie. You know that, right?” 

“And you’re _lucky_ you’re my best fella, or that smart mouth would piss me off to kingdom come. You know that, right?”

“You won’t be saying that when I start making dad jokes.” 

“You already do. Peter has to take the brunt of them, though. God bless his noble sacrifice.” 

Peter laughed at that, silent as he could manage into his hand. The sound shocked him, he hadn’t laughed in so long. 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “He’s a good kid.” 

Steve agreed. “The best.” 

Bruce called them all back up a few hours later, bringing them relatively good news. She was stable, healthy, no birth defects that he could see. The bruising around her ribs, though it would go unexplained, wasn’t life threatening. She was just a little cold, but Natasha, who had come to help Bruce upon hearing FRIDAY’s warning, bundled her up in the warmest blanket she could knit before returning back to her work in piecing what was left of the world back together. 

“So she’s alright?” Steve asked, surprisingly getting a word in before even Tony. His concern was evident, sincere. Peter had to hand it to him; he certainly did know how to commit. “She’s gonna be just fine?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, even allowing a small smile down at the sleeping baby cradled gently in Tony’s arms. “She’s a fighter. She’ll fit right in around here.” 

And she did. 

It’s undeniable that the first few months were a challenge. Everyone pitched in where they could; Natasha made the long, painstakingly quiet trek to the nearest gas station and took every box of formula she could find as well as some sorely-needed diapers and bibs. Bruce gave her daily check ups while Thor, even in his grief-wracked state, made the little girl laugh to no end over the doctor’s shoulder; face stretched in a smile the team had accepted they’d never see again. Peter pitched in what would be a surprising amount if you didn’t know him: rocking her when she woke up screaming in the dead of night, placing himself on bottle duty and then ‘here comes the airplane squash!’ detail when she got old enough to eat, carrying her everywhere she could safely go inside the compound and slowly but surely beginning to love her as the little sister he never had. 

The only members of the team that did more for her than Peter were Steve and Tony, who had rather unshockingly assumed the role of caretakers. Of parents. So when the question came of what to name her, though everyone in the compound had playfully joked around about what it should be, there was no question who the decision truly belonged to. 

But they let Peter, as the honorary big brother, have some input, too.

They named her _Virginia May-Margaret._ Named after the best women the three of them had ever known. 

Virginia May-Margaret became their second hope. Just as hers was theirs, theirs was hers. And when the grief gripped them and wouldn’t let go, Steve and Tony and Peter just needed to hold her in their arms; see the one blossom of hope grow from the ashes of everything they’d lost. It put it in perspective, at least enough to make life worth living again. Enough to keep their knees from buckling under the weight of this new, awful, lonely world. 

When Virginia got old enough to walk, the flaws of the compound were unceremoniously revealed. Though a beautiful and protective structure, it’s sharp, modern edges weren’t exactly childproof. Not to mention the overabundance of stairs and steep ledges. 

Steve was the first to suggest settling somewhere else--- somewhere more family friendly. Of course, they were all hesitant to leave the compound. There was the lingering fear that they’d be needed, and they were depriving the facility of not one, not two, but three members of an already fragmented team. 

And though Peter offered to stay behind as a rectifier for the situation. Tony wouldn’t have it. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, kid,” he’d said, ruffling Peter’s unruly mop of curls. “You know you’re family, too.” 

Unsurprisingly, Natasha’s pressuring input was the one that got them to sign the deed on a little cabin just twenty miles up north (complete with a lake that Peter couldn’t _wait_ to go swimming with Virginia in when the weather warmed up.) 

“You should go,” she told them, adoring and attentive gaze fixed on where Virginia had fallen asleep in her lap; hands carding slowly through the little girl’s dark hair. She’d generously offered to babysit while the three went house-hunting with a still reeling and traumatized but determined real estate agent. “We’ll get along fine.” 

“Are you _sure_?” Peter blurted, knowing he was coming off as rude but unable to help himself. He just had to know, because even though he’d failed at being a hero, he could never stop caring like one. Couldn’t leave if things weren’t going to be okay without Spider-Man there. But when Natasha just blinked at him slowly in response, his resolve nearly crumbled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t, um. I didn’t mean to be mean or doubt you or something. _Not_ that I doubt you! I _don’t_, I---”

“Breathe, Pete,” Tony interrupted, laying a steady hand on his shoulder. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and over his mentor’s head, Peter could see Steve’s face was tight with worry as well. Tony just gave up, said, “Nat, you’re gonna have to soothe all our egos, here.” 

She smiled through closed lips. It looked amused. Sincere. “As much as we’re going to miss having your annoying asses around, we don’t need them. Not anymore.” Peter watched in astonishment as her eyes got wet for a fraction of a second, but the moisture disappeared when she blinked; so quick he wasn’t fully positive it was ever really there. “It’s finally quiet. That’s the only good thing to come out of this, I suppose.” When they all looked down at the still-sleeping Virginia in her arms, almost in perfect unison, she was quick to amend: “Well, the second best thing.” 

Peter heard Steve’s quiet huff of laughter come out his nose, and then his voice, rich with gratitude: “Thank you, Nat. For everything.”

“Don’t get all weepy on me now, Rogers. Just bring the kids up to visit every now and then, alright?” Peter didn’t have time to process the warmth that spread up his chest at being included in kids before Natasha was continuing, signature teasing tilt in her tone, “Or we’ll have to come to you. And be warned, Stark. Thor will smash every coffee mug in your tiny,_ tiny_ house.”

Tony laughed. “Better we be up here often then, huh? Between Peter, Thor, and Virginia, I think their destructive capabilities would level the place.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, but he was smiling, too. “I’ll web it all back up before you get home, though.” 

The five years that passed in the safety of their little cabin were peaceful. Sweet. Not easy, but almost. They would be damn-near perfect if you never flipped the tapestry of them, if you never did the math about how they came to be. 

Peter served as Mister Stark’s best man at Steve and Tony’s wedding; which they hosted one muggy, yet somehow immaculate August night. It was a beautiful ceremony, and unlike most everything did after all that had happened, the event didn’t feel hollow. It felt full. Virginia was the picturesque flower girl; though she did try and shove lilacs down everyone’s shoes.

And Virginia went from walking to running, from babbling to talking, and from causing trouble to causing even _more_ trouble. Not that her devoted parents and her doting big brother minded in the slightest. 

She grew up happy, and most of all, _loved._

Peter grew up right alongside her, and as he did, he became Steve and Tony’s kid in every sense of the word. He couldn’t count on all the appendages of his body how many times he’d slipped up and called them “dad.” They didn’t much mind, though. They wouldn’t even look away from what they were doing, both of them answering at the same time, “Yeah, Pete?” 

Peter was happy. He really was.

But he still dreamt of May. He still dreamt of his aunt in their shitty apartment; standing there, waiting for him like he could ever find a way back. He still dreamt of Ned, spinning in his office chair and laughing at all their stupid jokes. 

He knew Tony dreamed of the dead, too. Knew it, because the morning after, he’d come and shake Peter awake gently to tell him, “Get your shoes on, kid. We’re going upstate.” And they’d sit with the ghosts of Pepper and Rhodey in the forest where he’d buried their memories until the heavy, silent tears dried off Tony’s face. 

So when Scott Lang showed up on their doorstep one morning, toting a disbelieving-but-hopeful Natasha behind them, Peter was maybe a little less skeptical and rational than he should have been.

Tony said _no_. Tony told them it was a stupid idea, and he was right. Time travel was risky. Doomed to failure before it even began on the principle of physical logic alone. A crapshoot, in which they’d be much more likely to fuck everything up than they would be to fix it. 

But Peter was holding Virginia in his arms while the adults were talking. He looked down at where she slept against his chest and all he could think of was how much he wanted May to meet her. How much he wanted his little sister to grow up in a world that wasn’t constantly choking on its own grief and pain. She deserved better. She deserved _more. _

With that motivation fresh in his mind, Peter went down to Tony’s garage after the ragtag gang had all left. He found his mentor-turned-father-figure with his head in his hands and a simulation running on his desk. A simulation that must have been important, considering how when he registered Peter’s presence, he quickly stepped in front of it to block it from view. 

“Hey, kid,” he said, trying just a little bit too hard to be casual. “How’s it going?”

Peter wasn’t distracted. “Are you considering it? Time travel?”

“No.” Peter raised his eyebrows, and Tony, knowing he’d been beat, caved. He sighed, fell into a nearby chair. “Yes.”

Having developed his cozy corners over the years, Peter naturally gravitated to his favorite nearby counter to perch on. As he hefted himself up, he asked, trying not to sound as naive and desperate as he felt, “Is it… is it _possible_?”

Tony gestured a tired hand to the calculating numbers on his desk. “We’re about to find out.” 

Peter fixed his gaze very carefully on his hands in his lap, not wanting to see Tony’s reaction to his impending confession of: “I still dream about May, Mister Stark. And Ned. And Titan.” 

There was a moment of stilted silence before Tony picked it up again. “Me, too, kid.” He sounded so tired. “Me, too. But if we try and get back everything we lost… We might lose everything we still have. And I can’t do that, Pete. I can’t roll the dice on this. I can’t roll the dice on_ you_” 

And though it was a nice sentiment, it just made angry tears rip at Peter’s eyes. God, he wasn’t worth the fucking caution. He stopped deserving it when he failed five years ago. “You can. And you have to. We got lucky, Tony. Not everyone did.” 

“Don’t you think I _know_ that?” his mentor snapped. But upon seeing Peter’s barely concealed devastated expression, he softened a little. “I know that. I do. A lot of people still can’t... ” he searched for the right words for a moment before deciding on “_move on_. And I feel sorry for them, I really do, but---”

“Then why not do something about it?” Peter insisted. “If we can help them, then shouldn’t we? Why _not_, Tony?”

“Because I’ve got a daughter!” Tony shot back, and if it would’ve sounded angry if he didn’t seem so desperate--- desperate for more than to make Peter understand; it was like he was trying to convince himself, too. “And a husband, and a son! And I know it’s selfish to want to keep that, but there’s _no_ guarantee that we could do this safely! There’s _no_ guarantee that it would work! We shouldn’t even be fighting about this, for fuck’s sake, maybe we _can’t_ even do it!”

FRIDAY decided that was a very convenient time to break in: “Boss, I’ve finished running the model.”

Tony didn’t look away from Peter; that same desperate look still lingering in his eyes. “And?”

The AI didn’t miss a beat. “Model successful.” 

  
  
  
  



	2. vormir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony go to Vormir. 
> 
> And only one of them comes home. 
> 
> (next chapter will have a happy ending.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this broke my heart to write so i hope you like it! please don’t be too angry! i promise a happy ending where everyone ends up alive is coming!

It only took a week for Tony to break. 

Peter didn’t even say anything. Didn’t actively pressure him in any way. After their screaming match in the garage, he thought his mentor could use some well-deserved patience and time--- knowing Tony was scared, but also that the fear wouldn’t stop him from doing the right thing. 

And sure enough, just a week later, as their little family was gathered around the dinner table, Tony broke. 

“Could you pass me the mashed potatoes, honey?” Steve asked, looking at his husband expectantly. Everyone, even Virginia (who didn’t really understand what was happening but knew it had to be serious) were walking on eggshells. The only person that had to be more worried than Peter was Steve; witnessing firsthand Tony be unable to sleep at night, skipping meals unless he was reminded he missed them. It was hard to watch, and even harder to give Tony the space they knew he needed when they knew he was hurting in getting it. “And the salt too, plea---”

“I built the devices,” Tony blurted. Peter watched as Steve’s shoulders stiffened and felt his own tighten in return, but Tony wasn’t done. “For time travel. They’re fully functional. They’re ready to go. They’re in the trunk of the Audi.”

A pregnant silence pervaded the room. Surprisingly, Peter was the one to break it. “Mister Stark?” 

Tony swallowed. Didn’t look up from where his gaze was burning a whole in the table but answered nonetheless, “Yeah, Pete?”

“Are you sure about this?” 

His mentor laughed; the sound short, almost bitter as he shook his head. “ _ No _ .”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t,” Steve said, face the picturesque sympathy even though his body language was poised in fighting position. Ready to go. Ready to rewrite their history. Peter couldn’t judge, not when he felt the same. “If the odds aren’t in our favor---”

“When are they ever?” Tony interrupted, finally looking up at them. His eyes were tired, but there was something else there, too. Something bright. Something hopeful. “And besides, we’ve rolled worse dice, haven’t we?”

Steve nodded once, conceding that point. He still held some hesitancy, though. Peter could see it in the tenseness of his hand; undoubtedly crippling the poor fork that got caught in his super-serum grip. “We’ve also never had this much to lose.”

That was true. They had a family. They had love. 

May and Ned’s faces stared across the table at Peter from empty chairs. And he knew it wasn’t enough.

Peter swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“But I can’t sleep,” Tony said. He looked desperate; desperate to be relieved of this burden, no matter how he had to cut the shackles. “And this is the right thing to do. For Pepper. Rhodey. May.” 

Tucking Virginia in that night was hard. Steve and Tony came out of her room and didn’t make it five steps before the panicked sobs they’d been withholding in her presence came rushing out. They comforted each other, though. They always did. 

No one had to speak their fears. It was obvious. This plan to go back and get the stones wouldn’t work without each of them there to see it through. And though they knew Bruce would be staying behind to run the controls (and had volunteered to be Virginia’s godfather the second the adoption papers were officially filed), it didn’t make it easier. There was a distinct possibility they would be condemning her to losing her family. To orphanhood.

As something Peter had gone through personally, he was less than thrilled with the idea. 

But he pushed down his apprehension and put on a mask of calm when he came into her room; fixing his face with a smile that barely managed to hide the uncontrolled chaos behind it. 

“Hi, Peter,” she mumbled into her pillow as he creaked open the door, not even opening her eyes. 

The smile turned real then, like magic. Or, more accurately, like Virginia. “Hey, peanut.”

“You can sit,” she told, flopping a lazy hand down at the edge of her bed. “Just don’t cry like Dad and Pops.”

Yeah. She was Tony’s daughter, alright.

He laughed, but he took her invitation anyways; being careful not to rattle her too much as he settled onto the Spider-Man duvet. Gift courtesy of Peter, of course.

She sat up a little then, blinking what was left of the sleep out of her face and pursing her lips tightly, as one does when they’re thinking very hard. 

“What’s going on up there?” Peter asked, reaching out a gentle hand to knock on her head a little. He knew it was serious when that didn’t garner so much as a huff of annoyance from her. “You okay?”

Her face abruptly pinched up how it always would before she cried, and Peter’s heart splintered into a million aching pieces. But before he could speak to comfort her, she was grabbing at his fingers, asking in a small, broken voice: “Just promise me something?” 

How could Peter say no? He’d do  _ anything _ to get that awful, pained expression off her much too young face. “Yeah, peanut. What is it?” 

She took a quick breath through her nose, as if to steady herself. “Come home.”

And he couldn’t promise that. He couldn’t. There was no way. 

“I promise.” 

The tears in her eyes dried up a little at his oath, even taken in bad faith, and she tilted forward until he caught her up in his arms. He hugged her tight and close before planting a soft kiss to her hair; beginning the impossible process of letting go.

She clung hard, though— little fingers strong as steel traps around his arms. And even though he relaxed, trying to nonverbally show her he’d be there until she was ready to be without him, her hands still clutched against his shirt like someone hanging out a window would clutch onto a rope. 

“Can I have one more thing? Before you go off on your big, space adventure?” she asked, once again in that tiny, scared voice. And Peter, unable to stand it, nodded gently against her cradled head. “Will you stay in here tonight?” 

They had a ‘slumber party’ of sorts, which meant Peter made a surprisingly comfortable bed on the floor out of all the blankets Natasha had knitted for them over the years. Per Virginia’s request, Peter read her bedtime stories and, when she inevitably tired of their predictability, the tamest articles he could find in Steve’s stack of newspapers. She was her fathers’ daughter without a doubt. 

And when she fell asleep, lamplight still on, Peter didn’t turn it off. He knew she was scared of the dark. And he could have left, slept on his comfortable mattress in his own room, and she never would have been the wiser. 

He slept on the hardwood floor anyways. And he dreamt of May reading him and Virginia his childhood favorite:  _ ‘When You Give A Mouse A Cookie.’ _

He would’ve woken her when he left, but with Steve and Tony standing in the doorway; gazing fondly down at their son and their daughter with enough affection to set the whole world aglow, he knew there was no need for more goodbyes. More heartache. 

They left their sitter, a nice old woman who Pepper had hired for Stark Industries Human Resources many, many years ago (and had turned into their babysitter after Virginia took a particularly extraordinary affinity to her), with their wills and instructions to drop her off at the compound if they weren’t back in a week. 

Needless to say, there wasn’t a single dry eye the whole ride away from their cabin. 

But even in their anxiety and their fear and their panic, still existed a palpable joy— a new hope, unbelievably refreshing after five years of trying and failing to accept the unacceptable. 

That attitude and atmosphere only grew as they gathered around the portal after hours of meticulous planning. Everyone, even stoic Natasha and melancholy Clint, had a bounce in their step. Ready for battle. 

The plan was simple enough. Six stones. Four teams. 

Steve, Clint, and Natasha would be heading to New York for the time, mind, and space stones. Neither Tony nor Steve wanted to part, even if it was impractical, as Peter had gathered from their little domestic argument in the car:

_ “We should be together, Tony. The three of us. As a family.”  _

_ “And I agree, which is why I’m taking Peter with me to this Vormir dig. I’ve got the kid. But they need you in New York.” _

_ “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.” _

_ “Sweetheart, all due respect, you’ve never liked a plan you didn’t come up with yourself.” _

_ “That’s not true. You planned Paris. I loved Paris.” _

_ “Oh, yeah. You did love Paris. Maybe we’ll go again. After all this is over.” _

_ “I think we’ll have more pressing matters to deal with than vacation after this, Shellhead.” _

_ “You know, this is why me and the kids call you a buzzkill behind your back.”  _

_ “It’s not behind my back if I know about it.”  _

Thor and Scott would be headed to Asgard for the reality-bullshit-angry-red-sludge thing. Rocket and Nebula were taking off for the power stone, since they’d known the guy that found it first, apparently. 

And Peter and Tony were destined for Vormir. A lovely planet where lovely things happen, if Nebula’s deafening silence about it was anything to go by. All she’d say was “Don’t send me there. I won’t go.”

So they weren’t exactly sure what they would be stepping into (which did wonders for Steve’s already frayed nerves about splitting up.) But with the stakes as high as they were, it didn’t exactly matter. They’d go even if they knew the place was rigged to high hell with traps and death machines. As long as the stone was there, that was where they’d be. 

“Watch your dad for me?” Steve asked Peter, pulling both him and Tony aside before stepping up onto the portal’s platform. The super-soldier-turned-dad-of-two ruffled a heavy hand through Peter’s curls, soft smile adorning his face. 

Ignoring Tony’s indignant “ _ hey _ !,'' Peter just nodded and grinned back. “You got it, Pops.” 

Their embrace was short, but meaningful. Steve wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and squeezed— temporarily making it impossible to breathe, but strangely making him feel safe at the same time. Grounded. Like everything was gonna be alright. 

Hard to believe there had once been a time when Peter didn’t trust him. He’d proved himself over and over and over. 

Determined to prove himself once again, he released Peter to catch Tony in a close, much gentler embrace. Though Peter took that as his excuse to climb up the stairs and onto the platform in order to give the couple their privacy, thanks to his enhanced hearing, he could still hear their quiet words. 

“Be careful, Tony.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“No.”

“Low blow, Rogers.” 

“You know the drill. Keep Peter safe, keep yourself safe, keep the stone safe. And come home.” 

“Like I could stay away from an ass like yours.” 

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“I love you, too. Be careful.” 

“Always am.”

“We’re so going to Paris after this. You  _ need _ to learn how to relax.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” The sound of a brief kiss. “Teach me all your ways when you get back.” 

“Sounds like a date.”

It somehow seemed simultaneously both too fast and too slow for how long it took Bruce to finish finalizing the set up. Every nerve in Peter’s body was alive with anticipation, excitement, anxiety, dread. A quick look around the circle at the assembled team showed the feeling was mutual. 

He held it together fairly well, until the ceiling tiles began to whirl as the machine came alive, and Bruce’s booming voice was barely audible above the noise. Then, the reality began to sink in. They were about to do a fucking time heist. 

Oh, Jesus  _ Christ _ . 

“On the count of three…” 

Steve met Peter’s desperately searching eye from across the way, and the man just smiled. Trying to reassure him of the unreassurable. 

“Two…” 

Tony’s gloved hand wrapped around Peter’s wrist; pressing the button that triggered his helmet to come up around his head. It would feel suffocating, but the warmth of his mentor’s grip kept him grounded. 

He could do this. He had to do this. He would do this. 

For Ned. For May. 

“ _ One _ !” 

They were falling. It was sudden. Falling, falling, falling into an infinite abyss of light and motion and speed and no, he abruptly realized it wasn’t falling— it was flying. He was flying, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see Tony flying along with him. 

_ Right _ , he reminded himself.  _ Time travel. Simple enough. Just go down the right path.  _

He angled his body to follow Mister Stark down the same purple tunnel, squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to be sick with disorientation when he opened them. 

Tried and failed— having to swallow down a considerable amount of vomit to keep from puking. 

“ _ Peter _ ?” Tony demanded, hands working quickly to retract both their time travel suits to reveal their much more comfortable, personal armor underneath. It was somewhat of a relief to see the signature red and gold of Tony’s gauntlets and his own web-shooter design. A taste of home. “Pete, you alright?” 

“Yeah,” he rasped, even though he didn’t much feel like it was true. “I’m good, Mister Stark, I’m fine. How ‘bout you?” 

“Peachy.” 

They were quiet once satisfied with each other’s well-being, and they took their eyes off one another to survey the surroundings. A natural instinct, with their line of work and all. 

The first thing Peter noticed was the sand. Thick, coarse, and dark. It swept across their feet; covering everything in its ever moving path, even coating the towering mountain and reaching up toward the strangely colored crescent moon in the sky.

Vormir. 

“You a betting man, Parker?” Tony’s voice was dry, but after years of experience, Peter could hear the fear there, too. Also knew better than to acknowledge it. 

“Not really. I’ll make an exception this once, though.”

“Twenty bucks says it’s on top of Everest over there.” 

“Let’s find out if I owe you my allowance.” 

They walked slowly, carefully. Peter’s HUD was alright with Karen’s constant monitoring of the landscape for potential threats, and he didn’t have to ask to know Tony’s was full of FRIDAY’s surveillance as well. The whole situation made him unbearably uneasy. It just felt  _ too _ calm,  _ too _ quiet. For fuck’s sake, with the metallic whirring of their suits accompanying their every step, they were probably the loudest things on the planet. 

And Peter couldn’t stop wondering why Nebula wouldn’t come here. Here, where there was no army to speak of, no danger that had yet made itself apparent even though they were halfway up the mountain. 

He was just thinking that maybe they’d gotten off easy when an echoing, hair-raisingly calm voice broke the silence. 

“Peter, son of Tony. Tony, son of Howard.” 

It could have been comical how quickly the both of them whirled around, weapons raised at the ready. But Peter couldn’t have done anything even if he tried; too transfixed by what he was seeing. A floating figure, dressed in some tattered black cloak and, beneath it, revealed sickly red flesh nestled amongst mangled features.

Tony was not paralyzed by shock. Tony was better than that. “Who are you?” he demanded, sharp and cutting. 

The figure was not fazed. “Consider me a guide,” it answered. “To you, and to all who seek the stone.”

And though that was technically good news, seeing as that was confirmation their mission could be accomplished, Peter felt a prickle of apprehension run up his spine nonetheless.

“Where is it?” Tony’s aimed repulsor didn’t waver, admirably brave. “Give it, and we’ll be on our way.”

At that, the figure’s mangled lips twisted up in a grotesque depiction of humor. It made Peter feel impossibly more unsafe. “If only it were that easy.”

“What’s the deal then, huh?” his mentor snarled. “What do you want for it?”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what the stone wants.”

“And what’s that?”

The figure shook its head sagely, pointedly ignoring the question, and gestured for them to follow as it turned away, up to an ascent on the mountain. 

With its back turned, Peter felt safe to risk a questioning look over to Tony and found his mentor’s eyes already on him. Surprisingly gentle after their recent angry assault on the guide. Paternal.

_ You up for this, kid? _ they asked. 

Peter just nodded, even though his whole body shook with the haywire stress of his spider-sense set to full-throttle. 

They walked side by side, barely an inch between them, up the rest of the mountain. It made him feel at least a little safer, if not by much. 

But any pretense of safety went away once they reached the top. Because at the top, there existed only a cliff. A steep, swift dropoff and the platform they stood on before it. 

Before Peter could jump to conclusions about why they were there, the figure was speaking once again. 

“What you seek lies in front of you,” it explained, gaze fixed on the ledge. “As does what you fear.” 

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, voice pathetically small. 

“The stone is down there. But only for one of you. And for the other...” 

That didn’t make sense. It didn’t compute in Peter’s brain. He spared a quick glance toward Tony, expecting to see the same confusion. But he found comprehension. Saw it in the set of his jaw, the resignation in his eyes. It terrified Peter to his core. 

The figure, oblivious to their reaction, continued on. “The stone demands a sacrifice. In order to take it, you must lose that which you love. An everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.” 

A sacrifice. 

A soul for a soul.

Peter felt his heart drop into his stomach. And he should have been thinking something coherent, something that mattered, something that would save both their lives but all he could think was how he  _ finally _ understood why Nebula wouldn’t come here. 

Swallowing around the immovable lump in his throat, Peter turned to face Tony slowly. Like he was a threat, or an animal that would startle if he moved too quick. 

Tony’s face was unbearably gentle. Empathetic. Peaceful. A sad, close-lipped smile on his mouth. It made Peter feel like panicking, because Tony ever looked like that when he knew everything would be alright. Not for himself, because he didn’t care about that, but for his family. For the people he loved. 

“ _ No _ ,” Peter said, the word coming out wobbly yet strong. He shook his head, fighting against the abrupt wetness that pulled at his eyes. “No, Mister Stark, that can’t … there  _ has _ to be another way, okay?” He was grasping at straws, he knew that, but he couldn’t help himself; the same way someone stuck underwater can’t stop trying to breathe. “Let’s think about it, alright?”

Tony wasn’t swayed in the slightest. “I’ve been thinking about it for five years, buddy.” His smile got impossibly sadder. “And it makes sense. Thanos came here with Gamora, remember? She didn’t come back.” Peter did remember. He remembered Titan, and Quill’s grief, and the red dust. “I don’t think that was a coincidence.” 

“No.” Peter was a broken record. He reached out a desperate hand; gripping Tony’s arm as hard as he could without hurting him. He couldn’t lose Tony. He had lost, and  _ lost _ , and lost, but he would not lose this. And even though he didn’t deserve it; didn’t deserve to have Tony in his life after all he’d failed to do, he was selfish. He would  _ not _ lose this. “No, I can’t…”

“It’s alright,” Tony assured, settling gauntleted fingers over Peter’s gloves. He squeezed softly; reaching his free-hand up to cradle Peter’s cheek. His calloused thumb caught the tears Peter hadn’t even realized were falling. “It’s okay. Because I can.”

And then his mentor’s armor was falling away; retracting itself up and off of Tony’s body until it materialized into just the arc reactor, which Tony freed a hand to promptly tear off, slam on the ground, and smash into a million pieces between his shoe. 

The act should have filled Peter with devastation. It was enriched with finality; Tony choosing to remove his armor, be exposed to everything he’d once protected himself against. But for some reason, it inspired Peter, serving as a catalyst.

No. He would not lose Tony, but he wouldn’t condemn the rest of the world, either.  _ Tony _ would have to take care of May.  _ Tony _ would have to tell Virginia and Steve that Peter wasn’t coming home. 

“Karen,” he said, not looking away from his mentor’s eyes as they morphed in confusion. “Get the suit off me. Code Clean Slate.”

Comprehension slammed home on Tony’s face, and then he was speaking quick and harsh, “Karen, Override Medusa Alpha Zero. Don’t let the kid out.”

Betrayal wound itself hot and painful beneath his chest, even as expected as it was. “Let me do this, Mister Stark,” he said, voice surprisingly firm and insistent. “Let me. I can.” 

“No. Absolutely  _ not _ .” Tony’s demeanor changed then, from reassuring parent to unrelenting persuader in an instant. The man stiffened, shoulders squaring off and hand coming up to wind around Peter’s armored wrist in what would be a bruising grip if he could feel it beneath the metal. He was realizing the reality that Peter had recognized. It could be either one of them. It would be a trial, and then a race to the edge. Neither of them planned on losing. “No.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not scared.” That was a lie. He was terrified. But in a way, it was the truth. Because dying wasn’t half as scary as living without his mentor. Living without his family. 

“Well,  _ I  _ am!” Tony yelled, composure finally breaking. Unrestrained fear revealed itself across his features which now looked so aged. Aged with scars, and grief, and worry. It made something awful pang in Peter’s chest when it dawned on him that he’d contributed significantly to the many wrinkles there. “I’m doing this. You’re going to let  _ me _ go over the edge, and  _ you’re _ going to live a long, happy life, alright? I’ve already had mine. End of discussion.” 

“No, it’s not,” Peter argued, trying best to keep rational and calm, even with his heart beating an uneven, quick tempo in his ears. God, was everyone this scared before they died? Or was he just a coward? “I’m not going to tell Steve and Virginia you’re not coming home. I’m just not. You’re a  _ dad _ , Tony. A  _ husband _ . I won’t let you take yourself away from them. Not to save my life, not for me---”

“And what? You think I’ll be any good without you?” he interrupted, face contorted with rage. He must have seen something like fear in Peter’s eyes though, because he calmed a little. “Kid… I promise that Steve wants you to be the one who comes home.” That didn’t make sense, but Tony plowed on, unperturbed by Peter’s questioning look. “Because if I go home without you, I am  _ half _ the person I was. I am  _ half _ the husband. I am  _ half _ the dad. I can’t… I can’t lose my kid. I can’t lose you.”

“But---”

“I heard it on the baby monitor, Pete. You  _ promised _ . You promised Virginia you’d be back. You can’t break that promise. Not to her.” 

Peter kept getting surprised by how hard Tony could throw out his punches; how much he could make them hurt, because he knew exactly where to hit. Hearing his little sister’s name ached like an uppercut, and Peter struggled to find his footing around the pain. 

No. No, Virginia would grow up and be grateful that she had a father. Kids live good lives without siblings all the time. It’s when they don’t have parents that things fall to shit. 

Peter should know. 

“She’ll understand,” he countered, squaring his jaw, pointedly ignoring the wave of sorrow that flashed over Tony’s face. The man was never particularly fond of Peter’s insistence to disregard his own worth. “She’ll be alright, just… just tell her that I love her, alright? And I’m sorry. And---” a weak, wet laugh tore itself from out his chest “---And that May knows ‘When You Give a Mouse a Cookie’ by heart. So she should have her pretend to read it sometime. And---”

“You’ve got too much to say for one message, Pete,” Tony interrupted softly. The gentle parental expression was back, the same one he used when he had to tell Virginia something hard, as he reached up a surprisingly steady hand to tuck one of Peter’s stray curls behind his ears. “I just want you to understand. You’re barely in your twenties. You’ve got too many things to say because you haven’t had enough time to say them yet. I’m your  _ dad _ , Pete.” And Peter knew that, had always known that, but it still broke something big in him to hear the fact stated so explicitly. “It’s my job to give you that time. It’s my job to protect you.”

A job that Tony had done well since the day they’d met. It was the least Peter could do now to return the favor. “But---”

“I love you, kid.” Tony pulled him in close, till Peter’s wet cheek was firmly pressed to his warm shoulder. He felt the soft kiss against his hair, and he couldn’t stay strong, couldn’t do anything but bring up his shaking arms to wrap around Tony like holding on would somehow keep them safe. “I love you so,  _ so _ much. Don’t ever forget it.” 

Peter wouldn’t. He’d jump off the cliff and hit the ground and break knowing that. 

“I love you, too, Dad,” he choked out, revelling in how Tony tightened their embrace for a moment at the name. “I’m sorry. I love you, I do. I do, I---”

“I know,” Tony soothed. He was good like that. Wouldn’t let Peter freak out like a total pansy before he died. “You’re gonna be okay.”

It all happened so fast after that.

First, Tony pulled back, hands resting on and holding both Peter’s shoulders, as if to steady him. It was an innocent gesture. Being held at arm’s length so they could see one another’s faces one last time. So Peter just smiled; a heartbroken but sincere thing. He should have known, he should have known, he should have  _ known _ that Tony only smiled back because of what his mentor, his family, was about to do. 

Without warning, Tony shoved with an astonishing and unexpected amount of force; pushing Peter into a rock that landed him several feet back from the edge. Stunned and surprised, though unhurt, from the violence, he was off his feet both physically and intellectually.

It didn’t make sense why Tony would have knocked Peter down into the rough ground. Not until he met Peter’s state for a split second, and his eyes were filled with resolution. With peace. 

_ No _ . 

Tony turned to where the cliff gave way to nothing but air.

And he fell. 

Too late. Peter didn’t know it yet, but he was too late. His half-second of shock fueled terror had cost him everything. 

He scrambled upwards, kicking against the pebbles still slick with snow, raced to the edge with desperate feet. Maybe if he’d been thinking straight, he’d have tried something else, something that would have worked, but he couldn’t fucking think around the horror of it all. Tony was  _ falling _ . 

The second Peter hit the cliff, he dropped down so one hand was hanging off the ledge, holding him in midair, and the other was shooting a blind-web down, so far down, too far down, to Tony. 

Tony, who had to catch it, Tony who had to come home. Tony, who was too willing to make the sacrifice, not because he was scared of living, but because he wasn’t scared of anything at all. 

_ No _ .

For the briefest second, Peter felt relief. There was the familiar pull of weight against his web, and he knew his mentor had been caught. 

In his hope, he made the mistake of looking down. But instead of seeing Tony being saved from himself, he watched as his web unraveled and unwound. Too much pressure. Too much distance. 

Even from as far away as they were, Peter could read the comprehension slam home on Tony’s face. See him also witnessing the frayed rope come undone from where it had snagged on his left wrist. 

The web would break. 

_ No _ . 

_ No, no, no, no.  _

“ _ Tony _ !” Peter was screaming, he was screaming, and it sounded guttural and loud and awful like the terrified, wounded animal he was. “Tony! Tony,  _ please _ !” 

There was nothing to beg for. There was nothing either of them could have done. 

“You gotta let go, Pete!” Tony roared above the wind, managing to be heard, breathless as he had to be. “It’s o—“ 

The web broke. 

And Peter watched and could do nothing but scream and scream and  _ scream _ while Tony fell, unstoppable and impossible and inevitable and heavy until there was the sick, twisted crunch of his breakable body where it collided with unyielding stone. 

His eyes were still open. Streaks of red spread like a halo from his hair. 

Dead. 

And all Peter could do was scream. 

“ _ Tony _ !”

A flash of hot, purple lighting engulfed the sky— echoing up from the ground around the body. And that was all Mister Stark was now. A body. 

“ _ Tony _ !”

But then a resounding boom broke his scream into shattered fragments, which, in their separation, became nothing. He became nothing. He was nothing. 

He had lost everything. And now he was nothing. 

It could have been seconds or hours or years when he woke. Somehow having turned back into one aching, grieving being. Not that it mattered. But he came to covered in heavy water and heavier sand. 

There was a weight in his right hand. 

The stone. 

And as he sat up, free fingers working on their own agenda to take him back to his time (if it were up to him, he’d fucking rot on this miserable planet, he’d never fucking get up, he’d never fucking live another second), he couldn’t help but think of how it wasn’t worth it. 

Because he would be going home  _ without Tony _ . 

His hand hit the quantum button, and he fell through time, achingly conscious of the lack of familiar company next to him as he did. 

He was going home  _ without his dad.  _   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :,) 
> 
> if ur heart is broken, i am sorry. 
> 
> feel free to yell at me in the comments!!!
> 
> tumblr: @WillowsAndWastelands


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